


More Than Physiology

by herbailiwick



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Medical Kink, Shy!croft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For General_Button, who wanted doctor kink Johncroft. </p><p>Rated X/NC-17.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Physiology

**Author's Note:**

  * For [General_Button](https://archiveofourown.org/users/General_Button/gifts).



"Are you sleeping alright?" John asks suddenly.

Mycroft stares blankly at him.

"You just look tired," John says. "And I do pay attention to the news from time to time. International issues causing you trouble?"

"Yes, actually," Mycroft admits cautiously. "I am not my brother, however. I try to keep my sleeping pattern consistent."

"I didn't ask if you were trying, I asked if you were succeeding. It's not my business, though," John admits.

"Quite alright," Mycroft says. "I appreciate your concern. And, in that case, no."

"I could prescribe you something," John says, then quickly adds, "But only if you need it, of course." He awkwardly rubs at the material over his knee. "Please don't think I just go offering prescriptions to everyone who looks a bit tired because I really don't."

"I don't think that," Mycroft says, looking away briefly. "I happen to believe you're a doctor with a strong code of ethics. Thank you for the offer, but I must decline. I have something I can take if I need to."

"Okay," John says. "Take care of yourself, Mycroft. God knows I can't go around trying to convince two Holmeses to get some rest."

"Ha, no, I suppose one is enough. Not that Sherlock listens." Mycroft rolls his eyes.

"But you do, do you?" John teases a bit.

"Of course I do, John," Mycroft says easily. He smirks a bit when this actually seems to be news to John. "I know about your accomplishments. I'd trust you with my health anytime."

***

"You look a bit feverish," John says.

"I'm sure it's nothing," says Mycroft, picking at his plate.

Before john realizes he's doing it, he reaches out, resting a hand against Mycroft's forehead. "Feel a bit warm," he comments.

Mycroft stares at him with wide eyes until he pulls his hand back. No, he's still staring at him that way now the hand is gone.

"Sorry," John says quickly. "Guess that's a bit rude. You _do_ have one, by the way. A large one."

"One what?" Mycroft says sharply.

"Fever," John says, scratching at his ear. "What did you…think I meant?"

Mycroft hesitates. "No matter," he says. "Shall we get the check?"

"Take a bit of a break, after this, yeah? England won't fall."

"Are you certain?" Mycroft asks through his lashes.

John thinks, for a moment, that he has surprisingly long lashes. "No, can't say I am. But you said you'd trust me with your health, and health is what I know."

Mycroft bites his lip. "All very true, John. I meant every word."

***

"You're favoring your right ankle," John says easily.

Mycroft stares at him.

"I think you sprained it."

"I agree with that assessment," Mycroft says with a sigh.

"Let me take a look at it," John says. "It will only take a minute," he adds.  

Mycroft looks at the door. "Alright." He looks back at John with determination. "Lock the door," he says more softly, and rearranges the chairs to face each other as John follows the order. He sits, steadily removing his shoe and unhooking a grey sock, John catching a glimpse of bare calf and sock garter on the way back to his seat.

When John sits down again, he pats his lap in invitation for Mycroft's foot. Mycroft flushes and looks at John through his lashes again as he rests his heel where John indicates. John moves the foot a bit, testing the ankle with his fingertips and watching Mycroft's reaction.

"Okay, it's not bad," John says. "It should be okay for a bit of a massage. Okay? Should help with healing."

"By all means," Mycroft says with a swallow. He won't meet John's eyes, so John hesitates for a moment before stretching out the ankle.

"Alright, Mycroft?"

Mycroft does meet his eyes then, and he looks a touch embarrassed, but not in much pain. John applies pressure to the ligament near the sprain with a finger, working his way slowly closer to the sprain. He works deeply, movements perpendicular to the length of the ligament. Watching Mycroft, he presses even more deeply, saying, "Tell me if it's too much, Mycroft. I'm trusting you."

Mycroft bites his lip and nods. "Of course."

"We'll give it five to ten minutes," John says. "This should help."

John isn't stupid. As he works the ligament, he can tell Mycroft is reacting to it and that he's very embarrassed. He won't even look at John, and he's still very flushed, his right hand clenching around the length of his fine grey sock. He even loosens his tie a bit.

"It's okay, Mycroft. To react, I mean," John finally says, wishing more for Mycroft's comfort than for his own willingness to not comment at all. "That's normal."

Mycroft chuckles softly, glancing up for a moment. "Would that it were, John," he says mysteriously.

Not quite sure what Mycroft means, John finishes in silence except for the odd, soft groan from Mycroft, and finally he pats the foot and says, "That's a good massage, see, and there are some exercises you can do. It sounds silly, but try forming the alphabet in the air with your foot; that's a great one. You'll be fine, just take it easy."

"You're very gentle," Mycroft says, staring at his sock.

"Here, let me take care of that. Might as well," John says, holding his hand out for the sock and the shoe. He doesn't admit he's a bit fascinated to see a sock garter. He's not sure he's seen anyone wear them before.

Finally, Mycroft is seated normally in the chair. "John, I can't thank you enough," he says quietly.

"You trust me with your health, remember? I took an oath." John winks. Later, he wonders why the hell he winked at Mycroft Holmes, but it seems like the thing to do at the moment. "Were you going to tell me about a case?"

Mycroft winces. "Perhaps another time?"

John glances at Mycroft's lap for a moment, then looks him in the eye again when he confirms his suspicions. "Er, okay," he says. "Maybe tomorrow."

"That would be lovely. Thanks again. I may seem responsible, but sometimes I do need some looking after," Mycroft admits.

"We all do from time to time, especially us responsible ones," John jokes. "I'll let myself out, if that's okay?"

"That's fine, John," Mycroft says, looking grateful.

***

John would never admit it, but that evening he takes to imagining how many different types of socks Mycroft has. Socks and jumpers are two of John's favorite things, after all, and, actually, freckles are another, and Mycroft's got plenty of those flecked across his strong, pale calves, hasn't he?

"Can I ask you the rudest question I've ever asked anyone?" John says when they meet again.

Mycroft raises an eyebrow. "I can't promise I'll answer, but ask away."

"You said yesterday that your 'reaction' wasn't normal. What did that mean?"

Mycroft almost seems relieved he'd asked. "Well, John, I meant that, more than a mere physical reaction, it was also a mental reaction to certain factors."

"To me? Is it…is it because it was me?" To his own ears, he sounds too curious and ridiculously hopeful.

"In more ways than one, John," Mycroft smirks.

"Okay," says John carefully. "What does that mean?"

Mycroft folds his hands in front of him on the desk. "I do think you're attractive, I'll admit," he says with an appraising glance, "but on top of that, I have quite a thing for being tended to by a doctor. It's nothing you did. Well, it's nothing you intended, I mean. And now that I've said this, I hope we can leave it, if it's awkward for you."

"Sure," John says with just a hint of disappointment. "Leaving it. That's good."

"Unless…?" Mycroft lets it hang there.

"You'd like more 'special treatment', would you?" John presses. "Maybe a 'home visit'?" He laughs, amused. "Playing doctor. I've done it before, of course." He grins a bit.

"Have you?" Mycroft quickly licks his lips.

"Yes. That was, ah, quite the reaction yesterday," John says a bit shyly. He's never played doctor with a man before, but Mycroft has attracted him since the start.

"John, you have no idea," Mycroft says in amusement.

"How's the sprain, by the way?" John says, growing a bit more serious. "Did that help?"

"Remarkably well. You know exactly what you're doing. I like that."

"It's good to be recognized, I'll admit," says John breathily.

***

Mycroft has his jacket tossed aside and his tie loosened, his shirt and waistcoat unbuttoned and hanging open invitingly. The stethoscope is cool as it touches his skin and he breathes in and out for John, blue eyes staring at John in what could almost be described as a dizzy sort of awe.

John licks his lips. "Let's listen from the back," he murmurs.

"Are you sure I don't need to take my shirt off?" Mycroft says shyly, looking at John through his lashes. "I heard that might help."

"Quite sure, if it's embarrassing for you."

"It is, a little," Mycroft swallows, "but I trust you." He makes his voice soft and small and John is surprisingly turned on. There's honesty there, actually. Mycroft isn't exactly comfortable with his body, from the looks of things, but he does trust John.

"You've got nothing to fear from me," he says gently. "In fact, I think freckles are handsome."

Heat flashes in Mycroft's eyes. The cuffs are unbuttoned and the waistcoat and shirt come off to rest on the bed, leaving Mycroft's torso bare except for the untied tie, which John gently grasps the ends of. "Forgot something," John murmurs.

Mycroft licks his lips. "Thank you, Doctor."

John leans in for a furious kiss, Mycroft's bare arms shooting up to hold onto John. Mycroft parts his legs, coaxing John closer. He moans into John's mouth as John slips the tie off and runs cool fingers over his warm back and shoulders.

They break apart to pant. "Well now I'd better check your pulse, don't you think?" John murmurs against Mycroft's ear, causing him to shiver pleasantly.

"I'm afraid it's racing now, Doctor," Mycroft says, breathless. He offers up his neck and John's fingers find the right spot, and he counts.

"About 120. You're doing really well," John breathes. He lets his eyes trail down Mycroft's torso. "More freckles," he teases, running his fingers through chest hair, trailing down to pinch a hardened nipple. He's rewarded with a gasp. Mycroft's pretty mouth hangs open slightly as he watches John's hands explore.

"Hardened nipples," John murmurs. "Flushed skin." He leans in and kisses at the spot where he'd taken Mycroft's pulse just moments before, sucking lightly.

"You're very thorough, Doctor Watson," Mycroft sighs, reaching up to pet at John's hair. He's trembling slightly. John feels on top of the world. He'd been having fun with past girlfriends, but this is so much realer. Mycroft really wants this, and John can give it to him, no problem. It's incredibly sexy to watch Mycroft get all quiet and wanting and shy. He's still comfortable, John can tell, still willing and into what's happening.

"Well," John whispers in Mycroft's ear. "You're a very good patient. It's only fair."

"Am I?" Mycroft curls his fingers to brush at the nape of John's neck.

"Oh, the best," John says, pulling back a bit to look him in the eye. "I'd see you every day, if I could."   

"Please, Doctor Watson," begs Mycroft. "If you can, I'd rather like that."

"You're so busy though," John says, coaxing Mycroft to lie down on his back. "Lie back against the pillows, I think, properly," he encourages, then continues with their game, "Who would have time for an ex-army doctor like me? You're very handsome and important, after all, in your posh little suits." He smiles at Mycroft reassuringly. He's alright if Mycroft's not interested in being more.

"I only need one doctor. I have no one else," Mycroft says with wide, honest eyes. He reaches up slightly, gesturing John closer. "I'm not in a suit right now," he says.

How could a Holmes, Mycroft, the bloody Iceman, look so open and fragile?

"I suppose I could keep you," John says huskily, making his way onto the bed, straddling Mycroft's thighs as he kneels above him, reaching for his nipples. He tweaks them, causing him to shiver.

"John, I've wanted you for a very long time," Mycroft says firmly, reaching up to rest his hands on John's hips. He's not playing at the moment. "No obligations, of course, as we discussed, but I'd give you the world, if you wanted it."

John grins. "You would, would you? Well, I think you're rather fantastic. So, I accept." He tugs at a hard little nipple, grinning wider still at Mycroft's groan and the way he shifts his hips on the bed. "I meant it about wanting to see you every day."

Mycroft sighs contentedly, but still squirms a bit because of John's hands at his nipples. "I'm unbelievably aroused," he admits, as if John can't tell from all the flushing and the dilation of his eyes and the way he's squirming.

"Let me take care of that," John murmurs. He reaches for the fastenings to Mycroft's trousers. "You won't last much longer, I don't think," John teases.

"Ghn, no," breathes Mycroft, closing his eyes as John curls his fingers under the waistband of his trousers and pants, lifting his hips a bit to help as John slides them both down.

"Oh Mycroft," John says huskily. "Look at you pulse."

Mycroft actually whines at the very idea, opening his eyes to stare at John's face as John eyes his erection hungrily.

"What seems to be the problem, Mr. Holmes?" John licks his lips, glancing at Mycroft, then back down. He rests his hands on Mycroft's bared hips.

Mycroft hisses. "Well, Doctor, I'm not quite sure," he groans out. "I was thinking about how handsome you look and how…how good your hands feel…and, oh, is that wrong? Should I feel guilty?" He slides his hands up to curl his fingers into the pillow at either side of his head, stretching delectably. "I'm very good at feeling guilty." His eyes plead for so many wonderful things.

"Ah, so you found my attentions arousing, then," John says, rubbing at his sides, running short nails over Mycroft's bare stomach. The erection is so full it nearly meets Mycroft's stomach, which is lightly freckled with a few symmetrical stretch marks that add delicious interest. John wants to lick the marks, but not just now. Teasing can come later.

"Yes, that's the problem," Mycroft says helplessly, rocking his hips once, twice, into the frictionless air. "It wants…it wants you. Please take care of me…I can't do everything. Sometimes I need help, and you're…you're perfect," he says, and makes a keening sound in his throat as John grips tighter at his hips.

"Let me check your heart rate," John says, and he grasps Mycroft heavily, and he strokes. "Certainly wet enough," he says with a hint of a growl. The dribbling fluid does them right, and Mycroft tosses his head and cries out and John is so lucky he asked that rather rude question because _fuck_ is this ever a perfect moment.

John's stethoscope dangles from his neck, teasing Mycroft's thigh and hip as he works him. "You're doing great," he praises as Mycroft pants and moans. "We're nearly done here. I can feel your pulse here. You're so hard, so full for…for me, was it?" Mycroft whimpers. John reaches below with his free hand to cup his bollocks decisively, biting his lip at the weight. "You're absolutely lovely, Mycroft. You deserve this."

Mycroft gasps and shudders, tossing his head back, his hips twitching as he's overcome. He pulses out, and John tries to stop it from all becoming too much of a mess. Mycroft spills wet warmth out between merciful fingers, sighing in pleasure as he jerks softly into John's careful coaxing. When he's too sensitive and the flush is dying, John lets go, opening his own flies a bit clumsily and reaching in with his wet hand to get himself over the edge as well, gasping Mycroft's name as the moment finds him.

He wipes his hand on the inside of his pants, a move he'll regret in a few minutes, but not quite yet. Mycroft gestures lazily for John to come cuddle him, and when John is unsure what to do with his still-damp hand, Mycroft takes hold of its wrist and thoroughly cleans it with his tongue.

"So, John, what's the prognosis?" Mycroft says around a yawn.

"A long and highly satisfying relationship," John mutters.

Mycroft chuckles and they drift into a sticky sleep, mess to be dealt with later.

Mycroft Holmes is a very good patient, and John is going to see him every day.


End file.
